


Oblivious, Injured and Pining

by WritingYay



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Cute, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, Humour, I hope, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Panic Attacks, Pining, Recovery, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: Ben’s answering laugh is crystal clear, and it’s surprising that such a frequent sound can suddenly impact relief and content. “Whatcha’ gonna do, carry me over the threshold, bridal style?” His eyebrows waggle obscenely, and Callum has to school his face into an unimpressed façade.“Don’t tempt me.” He replies, although his attempted threatening tone falls unbelievably flat. Instead, he sounds hopeful, and the dopey grin settled on his features doesnothelp his case.-Somehow, Callum has been put in charge of looking after Ben after his hospital discharge. Ben's just a bit horrified. His nurse thinks that Callum is his boyfriend, which is just a whole other thing.





	1. Oblivious, Injured and Pining

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Ballum rendition of 'Thirty, Flirty and Thriving'

Three weeks after his hospital admittance saw Ben _finally_ receive the news he’d been waiting for.

“Right then,” his young nurse, Hannah, smiles at him with a clipboard dangling from her right hand. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you wanna get out of here?

Ben’s head thumps back against his pillow. The distant phantom scratch of a pulling IV ripples over his skin, but one sub-conscious wring of his hands reminds him that the irritating line is definitely gone.

“Get those discharge papers signed, darlin’.” He grins at her, all white teeth and gleaming eyes. “One more night of having to listen to next door complain about their catheter might do me in if I’m being honest.”

Hannah giggles, but shakes her head all the same. The plastic clipboard makes a creaking gasp when she bangs it down onto the beams at the of the hospital cot. “Such a bloody drama queen.” 

“Runs in the family.” Ben throws back, and stretches out to his fold-away table to grab his phone. “Mind if I call someone to arrange escaping this blessed hell?”

“Oh god, please.” The medical professional rolls her eyes, ice blue shielded by fluttering fair lashes. She tilts her head to the side and regards her favourite admittance with a genuinely friendly smirk, even though he was the worst anaesthesia patient she’d ever had. “I need another handsome and silver-tongued man to clog up my ward now- you’ve had your fun.”

The quilt of stitches marked into his chest jolts uncomfortably when he barks out a laugh in answer. It was an absolute blessing that he couldn’t remember Sonia’s makeshift pneumothorax. Even the thought of that biro piercing his chest cavity like a skewer through chicken causes his stomach to somersault. Regardless, waking up with a torso that felt like it was on fire for the first time had brought hot tears to his eyes, only made marginally better by the surprise appearance of Callum.

Speaking of which-

“Hey.” Ben greets softly when the call connects. Hannah finishes jotting down his morning observationals and leaves the room with a knowing grin, her tousled blonde hair escaping the tight bun she’s wrapped to the crown of her head.

“Hi.” The voice comes back after a pause, just as soft. “I didn’t expect to hear from ya’ today? Everything alright?”

Ben sighs. “Well-”

“Oh god.” Callum- his angelic, complicated, _lifesaver_\- suddenly sounds horrified. His pitch drops a few octaves as he plateaus into his normal sincerity. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Ben assures him quickly, and his body just melts at the other man’s answering sigh of reprieve. “S’need to cash in on that favour, that’s all?”

“Christ.” Is all Callum can manage, and Ben yearns to reach through the phone and smack him round the ear.

The thing is, it had been agreed long before Ben was properly lucid that he’d move into Callum’s flat after his hospital discharge to recover. In a house that was currently holding five other people on a normal day, and that didn’t count Jay or whatever poor conflicted soul Kathy had dragged from the bar onto the sofa that particular night, peace was not a constant. According to Ben’s stern-faced doctor, peace and someone looking after him were the exact required ingredients to getting him back on his feet. Getting shot was not shits and giggles. Getting shot had turned out to be excruciating pain only dulled by morphine and numb pecs. Ben was happy to be obedient in his recovery and to follow medical instructions to get him moving around again. However, to be told by Phil in a dream-like glaze that he’d be staying with Callum after discharge until he was ready to return to normal life, was the worst news he’d ever heard.

Because, that would make him a burden to Callum. For the love of all things that are holy, the man had helped to save Ben’s life and the family were planning to thank him by throwing said pain-addled, barely-mobile surly man onto his doorstep. The mere thought of Callum being forced to spend his days changing bandages and helping Ben to the shitter was an absolutely horrific image. It had taken Lola’s no-bullshit tone to convince Ben that he was without a say in the matter, and that Callum had actually offered. She’d pointed out that Ben didn’t need Lexi jumping on his broken chest during recovery, and as much as Ben hated to say it, she was right.

“Oh look at that, you’re even shorter now than ya’ were!” Callum winks at him a couple of hours later, waltzing freely into the ward room whilst Ben is trying to get himself comfy in the borrowed wheelchair. It’s a battle he’s slowly losing, to be honest, and Hannah keeps stifling laughter from her position perched in his armchair. The on-duty physio, Christian, helps him to shuffle his arse further up the seat before resolutely giving up with a snort.

“Suits you, Ben.” He gently jabs Ben on the shoulder, and then just rolls his eyes when Ben flips him off. 

“And you,” his attention swiftly turns to Callum, who still has meaningful raised eyebrows. “Shut’cha face.”

Callum raises his palms placatingly, and then offers a polite _hello_ to Hannah. She nods at him respectfully, but when her gaze turns back to Ben’s, her eyes are positively awash with smug glee. 

“Right, I’ll go and sort out your follow-up paperwork now so that we can refer you to an independent physio later down the line if needs be.” Christian announces. He fists-bumps Ben and wanders off, leaving Callum speculating on how Ben’s accomplished becoming such good friends with all of his caregivers. His mind trails off, so he has to physically shake himself back to the present when Ben directs a question at him.

“Sorry?” He frowns, waiting for Ben to repeat himself.

“I said, are you sure you’re okay with this?” The chestnut-haired man clarifies, pointing to his visibly padded chest and then the wheelchair. “Having this mess stay with you?”

It’s not the first time Callum’s had to reassure him. “Of course I don’t mind. You need a quiet place to crash, and besides, I’ll be glad of the company.” 

He manages to say the last phrase without hiding his face or mumbling into the ground. Ben, receiving him loud and clear, just lowers his head in gratitude. The pleased glow threatening to pull at his cheekbones overpowers his self-control, so he finds himself just smiling at his knees stupidly. 

Hannah clears her throat, the epitome of unsubtle, and crooks her thumb towards the nurses’ station. “Callum, are you alright to bring your car around to the pick-up point while I get the last documents printed?”

Broken out of his calm stupor, Callum nods vigorously. “See ya’ in two secs.” He salutes sarcastically and disappears out the door, with Ben watching him go fondly. Hannah bustles about with the last bits of discharge documents, along with NHS leaflets on recovery and signs of infections. There’s a gnarly image of an oozing sore on the inside page that Ben grimaces at aloud.

“If my sexy bullet hole gets like that, Callum ain’t touching it.”

Hannah scoffs. “If your wound gets like that, Ben Mitchell, I’ll kill you myself. Also, I’m sure your partner would do anything to look after you.”

Ben literally freezes, and glances up at Hannah with wide, panicked eyes. “S-sorry, you what now?”

“Wait,” Hannah flaps her hands around before fixing Ben with an incredulous glare. “You mean, he’s _not_ your boyfriend?” She sounds in complete disbelief, and Ben has to sit there and blink at her a few times because she’d sounded so vehement. 

His mouth opens, and he goes to confirm the negative, that Callum is not his boyfriend. However, something utterly different escapes his lips. He doesn’t mean to say it, and in fact he’s a bit mortified with himself for even thinking it.

“Not yet.”

A cacophony of voices raise in the back of his mind at the blatant word-fuck, but the thing is, he can’t bring himself to correct it. He can’t change it to a hard no, because he means every damn syllable. Ben’s holding onto hope. _Not yet_. Give them time.

-

“If I ever see your face in my humble ward again, I’ll put medical-grade hallucinogenic in your IV.” Hannah says, accomplishing both affection and intimidation simultaneously. 

Ben sighs jokingly, and goes to snub her incoming hug. She lets out an offended _meep_ which has Ben chuckling from deep within his fragile lungs. He gathers her up to his chest as she leans down to wind her arms around the top of the wheelchair in an embrace. It’s slightly awkward, especially as Hannah is this elegant former pageant Queen and Ben is about five-foot zilch sat down, but the meaningful atmosphere to their lingering hug is evident. Callum watches on, his own chest aching for different reasons. His long body reclines against his open passenger door-frame out of the way, not wanting to intrude in the tangible golden light encompassing the pair. Eventually, Hannah pulls away and flicks a fly-away hair out of Ben’s bottomless eyes.

“I appreciate you.” Ben tells her, and for a moment it looks like she’s about to lose her composure. 

“It’s gonna be quiet without you.” She nods softly, before sending raised eyebrows Callum’s way. “But I have a feeling that you’ll be safe in the very capable hands of this young man.” 

There’s a gentle pause, and then Ben looks up to meet Callum’s watchful gaze and bloody _winks_. “Yeah, he has his uses.”

With every facial change, it was clear that Ben’s expression was growing more fatigued. It had already been a long day for him, what with the mayhem of release and final gruelling physio session with the boys. A warm, comfy bed was calling to the man.

“Right, soldier.” Callum claps his hands together and moves from leaning against his vehicle. Just like Hannah had taught him, he overturns his wrists so that his palms are facing upwards and slightly curled. This means that Ben can interlace their hands intimately, his thumping pulse steady under the pads of Callum’s fingers. 

Callum engages his core and hauls his responsibility to his feet. Ben hisses sharply on the incline, but once he’s settled upright, he breathes out a long exhale and bites his lip sleepily. 

“She floats.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, and pushes the wheelchair out of the way so she can help Callum get Ben situated in the front of the car. He yelps particularly loudly when he has to twist his body round to lift his second foot in, but Callum’s clever fingers instantly find the nape of his neck without realising and he falls into relieved silence. Hannah says her final farewell, and then she’s disappearing quickly into the main reception where her focus is almost immediately commandeered by a man dripping blood all over the tiled floor. It’s a sight that makes Ben grin, because he knows what sarcastic inner-monologue must be firing through the nurse’s brain at the sudden sticky mess.

Callum switches on the ignition and makes the deft drive back through the Walford estate. Ben’s only been out of action for three weeks, yet it seems to be a completely different world rocketing past the window. Each colour seemed more vibrant; vivid watercolours that had been muted previously but were now pure. Perhaps, it was the close brush with death that made everything seem just that little bit sweeter. Staring Grim Reaper right in his ugly face and then telling him to fuck off had been terrifying. Praise be the modern enigma that is Sonia, and her life-saving stationary. 

Praise be the tender Adonis that is Callum Highway: the enlightenment amongst mortals. 

Eventually, Callum’s building looms into view. The last time Ben had been here, Keanu had taken an overdue pop and he was dripping spots of dried blood all over the bedroom carpet. He’d hugged Callum, who’d been busy trying to drown himself in cheap beer, and then told him he liked him. Obviously, the subtext had been _I’m arse over tit in love with you, mate_ but Whitney storming in had ruined the chance for it to become reality. 

“Oi.” Callum pats his thigh, and it takes Ben a moment to realise that he’s started to slip. He blinks back to presence and offers Callum a smile to show that he’s alright.

“You’ll hafta’ be patient with me getting indoors. I can only Grandad-shuffle right now.” His throat shines under the autumn sunlight as he arches his neck back against the seat, and Callum swallows heavily.

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got a plan.”

Ben’s answering laugh is crystal clear, and it’s surprising that such a frequent sound can suddenly impact relief and content. “Whatcha’ gonna do, carry me over the threshold, bridal style?” His eyebrows waggle obscenely, and Callum has to school his face into an unimpressed façade.

“Don’t tempt me.” He replies, although his attempted threatening tone falls unbelievably flat. Instead, he sounds hopeful, and the dopey grin settled on his features does _not_ help his case.

Luckily, Ben either doesn’t hear him or just downright ignores his moment of vulnerability. After a few minutes of slowly trying to get Ben out of the car in one-piece, pained groans and vulgar language galore, they finally make it to the front door. The arm Callum has snugly wrapped around Ben’s hips shouldn’t feel as safe as it does. His fingers splay out on the plane of rippled denim hugging Ben’s pelvis, almost possessive. 

“I can’t wait to be able to do tha’ without it seeming like I’m scaling Everest.” Ben’s breathless by the time he’s firmly situated on the sofa. A sheen of sweat sticks to his forehead and his chest trembles slightly against the cushions, but he’s alive. Three weeks ago, Callum was sure he was cradling a dead man. Now, the man he thought he was destined to lose is propped up in his lounge with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Fuck, life is a beautiful thing.

“Don’t move.” Callum points at him with his index finger. “I’m just gonna get the rest of your stuff from the car.”

Kathy had already dropped a duffle bag full of Ben’s possessions from the house round to the flat a few days previous. She’d unexpectedly flung her arms around Callum in thanks, nearly toppling him backwards. 

“Oh no, because I was just planning to sprint around your flat.” Ben rolls his eyes in jest, his accent suddenly hardening into _posh London_ with sarcasm. The quick change is quite impressive, so Callum settles on sticking his tongue out instead of threatening to tie the injured man down. A successive of other images involving Ben being tied down storm his mind, and he has to clear his throat in embarrassment when his cheeks flush red. Ben catches it happen, the little shit, and pouts mischievously.

“Just you try.” Callum squeaks and quickly makes his escape, groaning loudly into his clasped palms when he’s back down at the car.

Already slightly bored, Ben picks up his phone and video calls Lola. Hopefully, Lexi would be out of school by now, and he couldn’t wait to see her little grinning face.

The video connects, and Lola’s hair takes up the entire screen. Some shuffling is evident, followed by a huff, and then she appears. “Oh, you’re out!” She exclaims, and brandishes a wooden spoon at him.

Ben frowns at her and cowers away even though there’s a screen and a good three hundred feet between them. “I’ve not been released from prison, Lo.”

“You know what I mean,” she raises her eyebrows and then turns excited eyes on him. “Callum looking after ya’?”

“I’ve only just got in.” Ben chuckles, but a rush of belonging envelops his heart. “But yeah, I think he’ll be great.”

Lola squeals under her breath. “Ya’ little minx.” Then, “Lexi-baby, come say hi to your Daddy!”

There’s the quickfire pummelling of footsteps hurtling down stairs, and then his blonde bullet of a daughter dwarfs the screen, gap-toothed and panting. 

“Daddy!”

“Alright princess?” Ben says, trying to eradicate any signs of exhaustion clumped in his skin. “How was your day?”

“Good.” Lexi nods enthusiastically. “Where are you?”

Ben twists the phone around so she can see a bit of the flat. “I’m at my friend Callum’s, he’s gonna look after me for a bit.”

Lexi stares at him sceptically. “Friend?” She wonders aloud. “But Mummy said tha’ he-”

“Right!” Lola bellows, distracting Lexi from the interruption by tickling her daughter’s ribs. She melts into a puddle of hysterics, and Lola throws an apologetic glance at Ben. “Ya’ tea is nearly ready Lex, so say goodbye to your Daddy and wash your hands for me babe.”

Lola eases up her relentless tickling and points the phone back at Lexi. The child catches her breath in big heaving gulps, before pressing a smacking kiss right over the camera. “Goodnight, love you!”

“Love ya’ sweetheart.” Ben waves at her. “Be good for your Mum.”

After one last virtual kiss, Lexi disappears from the room with rapid speed. That child was a mystery, sometimes. Bless her heart.

“Sorry.” Lola immediately cringes when she’s out of earshot. “I didn’t know how best to describe Callum when I explained the situation to her.”

“It’s fine.” Ben brushes the apology away. “She’ll end up finding out anyway, so it might as well be now. Besides, if we end up becoming… _something_, she’ll be able to understand better.”

Lola hums in agreement. “She’s a surprisingly observant kid.”

“O’course she is.” Ben says proudly, and Lola laughs. They make idle chit-chat about what Ben’s missed until Callum swings the front door shut behind him. All of Ben’s hospital things are piled up neatly in the hallway, but pushed back far enough so that it’s not in the way for when Ben starts to properly move around. He steps into the living room, and then nearly steps straight back out again when he notices the phone.

“You’re alright, it’s just Lola.” Ben assures him, and reverses the device so that Callum can see the woman’s grinning face.

“Hi.” He waves at her like an idiot.

“Thanks for doing this, Halfway.” Lola calls over the loud clanging of the oven door being opened. It’s clearly very busy in that kitchen, and out of nowhere, Callum aches for a big family.

“He’s not being a pain in the arse so far!” His face contorts into a tight smile, and Ben instantly notices his discomfort. 

“I’ll leave ya’ to it, Lo.” Ben blows her a friendly kiss, and she says something about taking chances before the call can disconnect. 

They take a moment to bask in the silence after the chaos of the past few hours. “You okay, Cal?” Ben suddenly enquires, with a worried frown. Callum shakes himself before answering.

“Me? Yeah, mate, of course.” The _mate_ stings more than it should. “More importantly, I bet you’re hurting quite a bit now, ain’t ya’?”

He gestures over to the rucksack containing Ben’s numerous pain medications and soothing gels for the worst of the tightness in the skin around his wound. Ben just scrunches his nose up and shrugs.

“Eh, I can handle it. I need to get stronger.”

“You need rest.” Callum argues, but the odd glint in Ben’s eyes makes him sigh and reiterate. “Why? You can’t go back to work until physio clears you, anyway.”

“Well,” Ben shrugs. His lips twitch with effort as he tries to hold back a smile. “See, there’s this lad I’ve promised to go for a pint with, so I need all me’ strength for him.”

Overwhelmed with golden sunshine, Callum forces himself to gnaw at the inside of his lip to keep his expression neutral. He delves his hands into his pockets and peers down at Ben through a hooded gaze. It works, because Ben lets out a strangled mewl and digs his own nails into his palm. “Wow, he seems pretty special?”

“He is.” The other man nods confidently, and yep, that’s Callum gone. “An’ I don’t think he knows I mean as a date, neither, and not a _bro_ chat.” Just to be irritating, he crosses his arms and bends his neck at an odd angle to snarl teasingly. “_Westside_.”

Callum just erupts into laughter at his ridiculous guy and shakes his head slowly. He waits until his mirth has died down, before pinning Ben with a serious glance. “He knows.”

“Yeah?” Ben double checks, suddenly insecure.

“Yeah.”

Nothing can contain Ben’s pure expression of happiness now. It bursts from every smile line in plumes of Midas light, like flicking on a Christmas tree. He holds his arms out and Callum steps into the offered embrace with a sigh. Ben presses his head against the hard abdomen of his saviour, and takes a moment to breathe out shakily. It’s a complete exhale of calm, and it’s swiftly matched by Callum. He tangles his fingers in the hair tickling his stomach through the shirt he’s wearing and just holds them there, still; a pleasant heavy weight. The last time he was doing this, it was a sign of solidarity before the expected inevitable. Now, the person who has flipped his world upside down is very much alive, and closing his eyes sleepily in the clinch. 

_Not yet_, he remembers, but soon.


	2. Exhausted, Emotional and Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben had _one_ job.
> 
> Don't do anything stupid.
> 
> Callum might just not bother asking him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> Emotional constipation  
Blood  
Anxiety attack/emotional breakdown  
(Slight dom/sub but only if you really squint?)

_Day 5_

Living with Callum for the last five days had allowed Ben to peek into what their future might be like if their first date goes well. Ben’s perception of co-habitation included screaming in tandem at football matches and flinging pasta sauce at each other for no reason. The sneaky looks Callum kept sending him when he thought Ben was firmly preoccupied were endearing, even though a large majority of the glances were fuelled by heat and hellfire. All in all, living under the same roof was turning out to be less stressful than he’d anticipated. His host was extremely hospitable and caring; if Ben tried hard enough, he could pretend that they were actually living together as a couple, and not just temporarily tolerating each other whilst Callum flapped around with worried eyes and Ben tried to get better at breathing through badly bruised lungs. It was- well, it was nice. It was nice to have another presence that didn’t annoy him.

However, for Callum, the last five days had been utterly, overwhelmingly, _exhausting_.

Ben Mitchell was as restless as a toddler on a sugar-high. Not content with making Callum’s heart seize by disappearing for hours to climb the four flights of stairs from the flat to the communal ground floor, he had a habit of wandering off to the café, or the pub. More often than not, Callum would get garbled phone calls from Kathy or Mick to say that Ben had inevitably overdone it and now couldn’t stand. Ben prided himself with defined abs and pulsing thigh muscles, but that made it ten times harder for Callum to haul him back to the safety of the flat. Getting his hands all over the injured man’s body but then not be able to do anything about the sudden waves of arousal was torture. Then again, Ben was probably aching for him to take things a step further. But Callum was nothing if not a gentleman, and he was going to damn well wait for that drink before having his wicked way with the shorter man in the master bedroom’s sprawling bed. 

“Stop dreaming about my thighs.” Ben murmurs over the buzz of a rugby match on TV. His toes flex against Callum’s hip from where they’re pressed closely together on the sofa. It was unsurprising that Ben had no sense of personal space, but Callum wasn’t about to complain.

He blinks at Ben blankly for a moment, before frowning. “Ya’ what?”

Ben just smirks at him teasingly, and lets his legs fall further open, the irritating sod. “When you daydream, you get this heated glaze over ya’ eyes like you wanna pounce on someone.” He then shrugs and laces his fingers behind his head to tense his biceps. “So obviously, you’re thinking about me.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence for a man who currently looks like an extra on Casualty.” Callum snorts, flicking his eyes to Ben’s chest. He’d changed Ben’s dressings a good fifteen minutes ago, yet Ben’s still sat shirtless. The gauze bunches every time he exhales, but Callum’s not Hannah. Each strip of microporous tape continues to hold the bandages together so Callum’s rather pleased with his skills. Five days of constantly checking Ben’s pecs for bleeding or weird-coloured discharge (Ben had actually yelped and swatted Callum in the ribs when he’d found out that checking for oozing fluid was a part of Cal’s duties) was an odd sort of pleasure, because staring at Ben’s defined muscles and mostly unblemished skin was certainly no hardship.

He gets a grumbled curse in return, but Ben doesn’t move to grab his hoodie. 

“Put some clothes on, you exhibitionist.” Callum moans, fully aware that his daydreams were going to stray into dangerous territory if he has to continue gawking at Ben’s bare torso. 

“Yes sir.” Ben says cheekily and obediently slips his arms into the fabric. Callum has to lean across to gently pull it down over his bandages, and his heart clenches at Ben’s soft gasps in pain. The bullet hole seemed to be healing nicely and the taut red skin around the stitches was settling into a less inflamed light pink daily. The main issue was definitely Ben’s strength and lung capacity after one had collapsed. Hannah had described it like a deflated balloon being blown up again; the saggy and fragile tissue required more effort to reach full size again compared to a healthy lung. That’s why Ben’s stubborn insistence to get back on his feet was so worrying for Callum. Seeing him in pain was shit.

“How are you doin’ for pain meds?” Callum asks him with a grunt as he rises from the sofa.

“Sore, but it’s just a dull ache right now.” Ben replies, ghosting his hand down his chest gently. “I’ll sort meself out in a bit.”

Callum was due to go and meet with Whitney. After arriving back in England from the honeymoon she’d decided to do alone, they were working hard on a civility. He wasn’t sure if they were ever going to have a friendship, or even be involved in each other’s lives, but the raging guilt he still feels means he’ll do anything for her forgiveness. Ben had been adamant that Callum’s sexuality was nothing to apologise for, and slowly he was getting that. However, he still felt awful for cheating on Whitney when they were supposed to be getting married, and that’s what he’s apologising for. 

“I won’t be long.” Callum zips up his coat and then buries his fingers in Ben’s hair for a millisecond before brushing over his scalp and yanking his hand away. Each intimate touch built up his confidence to act however he wanted around Ben. This was still all new ground, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare the man away.

Ben, of course, thought himself of something rather similar to a puppy and lapped up the attention enthusiastically. His eyes slip closed at the lightning zap from Callum’s warm grasp. “Alright.”

“I swear to god,” Callum fixes him with a burning glare. “You better not leave that sofa. If I find you wandering the streets for any reason other than a fire in here, I’ll chop ya’ balls off.”

A smile threatens to tug at Ben’s lips, but he controls it well. Instead, he nods seriously. “Understood.”

Callum grins and sprints out the door, already running late. He shakes his head to himself on the way and ponders what the hell he’s got himself into.

-

Coming face to face with Whitney nowadays is like talking to someone recognised from a dream. She’s already sat in the café when Callum rushes through the door in a billow of heavy panting and limbs. Luckily, she doesn’t quip about him being late. He gets offered a guarded smile when he sits opposite her, which is fair enough.

“Hey,” Callum wheezes. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

Whitney nods. “How’s Ben?” She doesn’t wince when muttering the man’s name, which is a welcome surprise. Honestly, she has every right to dislike Ben presently. If it was the other way around, and she was getting to know the guy she’d cheated on Callum with, he’d be a hateful mess too. 

“Won’t bloody stop moving.” Callum laughs softly and takes a sip of the black coffee already ordered for him. It’s clear that his ex-fiancé has been here for a while and Callum’s stomach pangs for making her wait. “He’s adamant that he’ll get back to full strength after three weeks in hospital if he just keeps himself moving, but he’s too headstrong to realise that his body is too weak for tha’.”

“Sounds about right.” Whitney says quietly. Her gaze drops to her fingers as she fiddles with the steaming mug in her hands.

“Sorry-” Callum immediately kicks himself for the detailed explanation. She clearly didn’t actually care; she was just making small talk. Something Ben had said about Callum constantly wanting to please others instead of pleasing himself drifts into the forefront of his mind, and he has to push it back aggressively. “I shouldn’t, it’s not fair to-”

Whitney glances back up in confusion. “Nah, I’m fine.” There’s a silent pause before she exhales shakily. “He… he means a lot to ya’, Cal, and I appreciate that. I’m glad he’s out of hospital and that you’re taking care of ‘im. You’re a good person.”

Sharp scratches pierce Callum’s eyelids. “I haven’t been in the past, Whit. I know I haven’t been to you.”

The red-haired beauty just shrugs. In that one second, her facial expression twists into an exact replica of Ben when Callum’s teasing him for being soft. Pushing the awkwardness aside, Callum politely asks her what the lowdown is with Bianca and that whole shenanigans, and it seems like Whitney’s actually grateful for being asked. She unloads all of her problems onto Callum and he gives advice in places where he believes he can, and for a blessed half hour they bask in some normality. That is, until Ben’s grinning face pops up on his phone with an incoming message.

_Can you come home?_

Callum reads the text once, twice, and frowns. Home? A burst of delight courses through his veins at the inkling that Ben perceives his flat to be their home. Any joy is swiftly dampened by the clearly negative and slightly desperate atmosphere to the words.

_I’m still with Whit?_ Callum types out with a deep crevice between his eyes. Whitney glances at him worriedly. _U okay?_

It seems an age for the reply to materialise. The steady three dots of redrafting in anxious tension beat steadily on screen.

_Stitches have ripped open…_ Ben types back, and Callum thinks for a horrible moment that he’s gonna throw up his coffee. _I need you._

“S’Ben, his stitches have burst and-” he waves his phone around in Whitney’s face, already up and out of his seat. 

“Go.” Is all Whitney says, firm and authoritative. Her eyes bore into Callum’s in understanding; she knows how important Ben is to him. She’d seen his face when Ben had been shot, and she could see his white-hot fear now. 

Callum obeys. 

“What the fuck were you doing with your arms above your head anyway?” Callum fumes about five minutes later, and presses the towel a little bit harder into Ben’s chest, drawing out a shocked hiss. “A’gave you explicit instructions, Ben. Arse on the sofa, don’t leave the flat, and don’t do anything strenuous!”

“Strenuous?” Ben grinds out through clenched teeth, but it also sounds like he’s chuckling to himself. “All I did was reach up to get some paracetamol from the top shelf o’your bathroom cabinet.”

Callum growls under his breath and has to steady himself before answering. He’s so angry at Ben right now, he could scream. Obviously, the anger was just a mask for sickening panic, but he was tempted to scare Ben just a bit longer. “Para-? You’ve got fuckin’ pain medication from the hospital that’s so strong it could unbalance a rhino.” 

Ben swallows heavily. “They make me drowsy. An’ I wasn’t in a lot of pain, just that same ache. I thought generic medication would sort me.”

He’s talking absolute shite, and Callum genuinely doesn’t know how to reply. Ben put himself in danger for no reason whatsoever. What would’ve happened if Callum hadn’t been just down the road? What if he hadn’t answered the text?

“You are _so_ lucky I had my phone on loud.” He almost-yells. The blood seeping through the white material is making him dizzy, and it’s not even his. “What was your plan gonna be if I didn’t answer?”

At least Ben has the decency to look ashamed. His head droops so it’s resting on Callum’s shoulder, but the furious taller man makes no attempt to pull him closer. Ben immediately notices the tension, so lifts his head again to blink at Callum through dark eyes blown wide. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, vulnerability dripping through his dialect. Under Callum’s shaking hand, his heart begins to beat in quick succession with rising anxiety. Callum doesn’t really notice over the deafening rush of his own pulse. “I didn’t mean to worry ya’ Cal.”

“You failed.” Callum fires back, harsher than he was initially planning. Ben winces and cowers back like he’s been slapped. Suddenly, all Callum can think is that he’s taking on the same persona as Phil. Tough love, and shouting to convey feelings. This epiphany causes a tidal wave of nausea to ascend into his throat, and he almost blanches. Changing tact _fast_, he sighs and loosens the pressure on the cloth. “I care about ya’ Ben. Like, a lot.”

“I just wanted to get stronger for our drink.”

“I jus’ want you to be in one healthy piece for our drink.” Callum contradicts sharply. “I’d push you to the Vic in a wheelchair if needed. I don’t care, ya’ hear me?”

“_I care._” Ben says, his voice straining to find impact. His body trembles all over, and one quick glance into his beautiful, fountain-like eyes finds regret and concern. “You deserve to be wined and dined like someone real special, Halfway, an’ I can’t do that if I have to pause for breath every other sentence.”

It takes all of Callum’s energy not to cradle this destructive mess in his arms and never let him go. 

“I can’t wait for the day that you realise that you are very fuckin’ human, Ben Mitchell.”

Two huge, shocked eyes stare back at him. Lashes come down to blink, and then suddenly the pupils are flooding with hot, salty tears. 

Not wanting to crumble just yet, Callum pulls the towel away to study the damage. About five of Ben’s intricate stitches have popped like someone’s slashed a knife through them. The skin around the stitching loops is raw and puckered. Overall, Ben’s gunshot wound looks almost as bad as it had done when the tiny flying missile had shattered its way through the muscle and into his lung. That’s an entire step above terrifying. Shit. He gasps subconsciously and presses the towel back to the wrecked area even though the bleeding has slowed massively. Ben can’t get the vivid picture of that infected wound from the hospital leaflet out of his mind and it finally dawns on him what an unnecessary risk he’s put himself through. After all of Callum’s kindness- saving his life, visiting him in hospital, offering to look after him following discharge, agreeing to go on a date even after all the shit Ben’s put him through- he’s thrown it right back in the man’s carved cheekbones. 

“Fuck.” Callum swears under his breath and raids his mental army medical training to shed any light on the next steps. “We need to get the hole stitched up again, otherwise you’re gonna be a hotspot for sepsis.”

“Can you do that?” Ben asks dumbly, his brain short-wiring into monotone syllables with the panic.

Callum fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Not here.” His throat is filled with nails. “Hospital can.”

“No.” Ben demands straight away. With the hand he’s not digging into his thigh to ground himself, he cups Callum’s wrist and squeezes. “Please no. Don’t make me go back.”

And that… that’s unexpected. 

“Ben.” Callum mutters in a way he might’ve well said _baby_. “I can’t stitch you back up here. Y’know that.”

Something horrible twists in Ben’s expression. Normally the man had such a guarded appearance, but all the stress had caused the barrier to fall and this open, vulnerable mess to materialise in its place. “Please, Cal.”

To his absolute embarrassment, his waterline gives way and suddenly there’s an unwelcome tear sliding over his nose. It mars his complexion with a clear tear-stain; human and hurting and scared.

Callum breaks. His free hand instantly goes up and over Ben’s shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck and plant at the other shivering shoulder. He pulls and Ben goes willingly, boneless, right into his embrace. Callum lets his thighs tumble open so that the shorter man can fit between them, and he surges their foreheads together with a bump. Soothing nonsense escapes his worry-bitten lips as Ben falls apart in his arms, with the crimson towel still trapped between them. 

“You’re okay.” Callum attempts to murmur strongly, but it comes across as pure fear. He’s not sure whether the comforting is more for him or Ben. “I’m sorry I yelled at ya’. Shush, handsome, you’re alright. I’ve got ya’ haven’t I? Eh? Stuck with you I am, mate. But I wouldn’t have it any other bloody way. I know it’s scary, I know. You’ll be fine, I promise. Won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Sorry I keep putting you through shit.” Ben whispers in gulping heaves, still profusely crying like he hasn’t had an emotional release in weeks. To be fair, he hasn’t. The last thing Ben did to release the overflowing damn was beat Keanu to a pulp. The last time Callum had seen him cry was when he was absolutely hammered at the house party and had wormed his way into Paul’s old bedroom. Poor sod. It all clicks into place and Callum feels the worst person in the world for pushing at the problem when it was clear Ben was already down and hurting.

“Shut up.” He presses a gentle kiss to Ben’s slick temple. “You’ve grown on me these last few weeks and this is the second time I’ve had to stem the bleeding from a hole in your chest in a month.”

Ben snorts at the statistic, his breakdown finally calming. A loud sniff echoes around the flat. His head tentatively finds the hollow of Callum’s neck, and he lets out a relieved sigh when fingers immediately bury themselves in his unruly hair. “You don’t deserve me.”

Callum was thinking the exact same thing. Yet, Ben was clearly meaning that he didn’t deserve the stress that came with taking on the temporary role of the mechanic’s carer. Callum, however, strongly believes that he doesn’t deserve Ben, because not one thing he’d done in his miserable life could possibly warrant being blessed with this gorgeous, sarcastic, golden-hearted _mess_.

“Hey.” He nudges Ben before he falls asleep against Callum’s chest. “I need to ring Hannah. There’s no way I’m letting ya’ go to sleep tonight with one more hole than you already have.”

This earns him a laugh, albeit a slightly dread-filled one. He’ll phone the hospital in a minute, Callum reasons, because having Ben Mitchell wrapped around him like an exhausted octopus is a strange pleasure. This man was going to be the death of him, but quite frankly he didn’t give two shits. 

What a privilege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannah will be back next chapter, because she's a lot of fun to write!
> 
> Apologies if this was a bit of an emotional surprise.


	3. Smitten; Stars are Aligning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hail the sarcastic angel that is Hannah!

Ben feels sick.

No, worse than that. He’s tied to a rickety boat in the middle of a category five hurricane, being thrown about from side to side like a ragdoll. With every breath, his chest and abdomen spasms to leave him shuddering and absolutely fucking terrified. Callum’s voice drifts through from the kitchen. It’s clear he’s trying to be discreet, but his own torrent of emotional conflict causes his voice to get louder with every word. His vowels cut off in unpredictable places, displaying his desperation and utter impatience, as he navigates Walford General’s phone system to track down Hannah. Ben had pitched the idea of 111, obviously, but one sharp look from Callum’s shattered eyes shut him up in an instant.

“Okay.” Callum appears in the lounge doorway after another ten minutes. He drags a hand down his sunken face which has aged thirty years in the blink of an eye, and massages his temples. “I finally managed t’track down Hannah. Apparently she finishes her shift in about quarter of an hour, and a’explained the situation to her, so she’s gonna come straight here afterwards-”

“Don’t tell me you’re making the poor _ge-yul_ come to see me after finishing a twelve-hour shift?” Ben hisses, and finds the energy from somewhere to stand up from the sofa and clench his fists.

Callum watches the act of defiance with an unimpressed glower. Quite clearly, Ben did not have the emotional capacity to even be verbally questioning the decision now, never-mind puffing out his chest like a stereotypical cockney _bruvva_. The London muscle-man, Phil Mitchell’s prodigy son, had to be toxically masculine all the time. Being gay had been the first hurdle, and now being human instead of stoic was turning out to be the second. Human. Huh. The slight tremor to his hardened lines gave that away in an instant. 

“Sit down.” The taller man demands. Fuck, he’s so fed up of this bullshit. He doesn’t realise he’s actually said that last bit aloud until Ben’s features shutter off into a tableau of hurt. 

“Wow.” He immediately bites at his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t hold back on your feelings, eh Cal?”

“For fucks sake.” Callum shakes his head vigorously and marches across the room. For once and for all, he needed to get it into Ben’s thick as pig-shit skull exactly what’s been bothering him since arriving home to Ben on the verge of a panic attack. “You are not the problem, Ben. The problem, is that I am just trying to help you, yeah, because- nah, nah shutcha’ trap and hear me out for once- I’m just trying to keep you safe because I really fuckin’ like ya’ and you keep pushing me away like me worrying about your health isn’t okay.”

It all rushes out of him in one shallow breath. The hand he had placed on Ben’s shoulder when the other man had attempted to interrupt and argue with him suddenly seems to be an invasion of space. He goes to retract it when a pained whimper escapes Ben’s chest that could well be Callum’s own gunshot wound. Throwing his planned pissed-off face out the window, he brings Ben to his chest for the hundredth time in five days and presses his lips into soft hair. His liability goes boneless in the embrace, so Callum gently walks them backwards until he’s able to push Ben down onto the sofa. He follows him quickly when Ben honest-to-God _pouts_ and rearranges limbs so that he can squish his lanky frame into the corner and let Ben curl up against his ribs. For two guys who were supposed to be taking things slow, they had become very literally wrapped up in each other. Perhaps they could do an Amy and Curtis and class themselves as half-boyfriends. Callum had definitely earned it. 

“I just hate being a burden.” Ben mouths into Callum’s collarbones a bit later. He still feels incredibly tense under Callum’s splayed hands. It’s almost like he’s trying to physically hold the man together and stop the fragments from dispersing. His arms are aching and slowly losing strength which is a terrifying thought, because Ben is _this close_ to being a permanently broken shell. “Been a burden all me’ life. Don’t wanna make you bored of caring for me.”

There’s not much Callum can say to that without it turning into a therapy session, and forcing Ben to get emotional minutes before forcing him to be sewn up like a patchwork quilt would undoubtedly result in the mother of all breakdowns. “Ya’ fuckin’ mess.” He whispers, and pulls the warm body tighter in. 

When Hannah finally knocks on the door, Ben’s half-asleep. Callum has to gently shake him awake when he untangles their bodies to answer the flat intercom, and the confused, drowsy blink he gets in return almost causes him to dive right back in again. Yet, one look at that hasty bandage that remains crimson stained from the early bloody waterfall hardens his resolve, and he can’t let Hannah in fast enough.

The nurse looks to be a hybrid of concerned and exasperated when she steps into the flat. “How is he?” She shrugs her coat off and sets down a bag at her feet, which looks to be a first aid kit on steroids. 

“Close to breaking.” Callum replies honestly. “He didn’t want to go back to hospital because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Poor bastard, he’s never been welcome anywhere.”

“I hope he’s welcome here?” Hannah’s eyes slit into steely severity. Her glare was almost a challenge to _say you’re giving up on Ben, I dare you_ and quite frankly she’s rivalling Jonno’s ability to make a heart freeze. Callum musters up all of his courage and intently hones his vision so that the protective woman is his sole focus, and masks his expression into determination.

“More than he’ll ever know.”

It’s an intensity he hasn’t managed for months. His tone blackens the air between them in plumes of choking smoke. To her credit, Hannah doesn’t flinch. Her threatening scowl dwells for a heartbeat, before her entire face softens. “Thank you.” She says, stupidly quietly, almost like she’s hoping Callum doesn’t catch it. Obviously he does, and that simple phrase is enough to suck all of the stress from his limbs and leave him flailing. He’s gained Hannah’s approval, and that woman has cared for Ben more in three weeks than Phil has in a lifetime. Plus, she’s fucking scary, and Callum is overcome with relief. 

“Okay.” She resets her body language into professional prowess, and picks up the medical equipment Callum’s ninety percent sure has been borrowed from a home-visit nurse. “Where is the bloody jinx?” 

Callum snorts at her fond yet unimpressed sigh, and points to the ajar door. “In there.”

Hannah throws him a lifeline smile and slips into the room. One glance at Ben’s tear-stained complexion fires up that maternal inferno in her veins, and she throws all façade of angry out of the window and practically leaps onto the sofa. Ben’s clearly tried to fall back asleep in hope that he can get out of the stitches for a period if they believe he isn’t conscious, so he peers up through his lashes in perplexity at the sudden weight next to him. His raw, wide-open eyes fix on Hannah’s form and suddenly it looks like he’s either going to burst into tears or slam up the reinforced walls. Thankfully, the barriers stay firmly down, but Hannah’s heart clenches at the glassy sheen that rises up the irises. 

“Hi there.” The nurse stays exactly where she is, not wanting to touch Ben until he instigates contact. There’s no point to pushing at an already splitting crack because there’s a high chance it will all just fall through into a cavern of gaping distrust. “How are you doing for pain meds?”

Ben scrunches his nose up, and shrugs. It’s clearly not a question he was expecting to hear. “M’fine.”

Hannah turns that same _no bullshit_ hooded look on him; an exact replica of the judging grimace she’d given Callum at the door. “Don’t believe you.”

“I’m okay.” Ben parrots, but his hard swallow contradicts his certainty. 

“B-”

“Hannah.” His voice actually cracks in half like splintering plaster, and Callum’s fairly sure a piece of his soul dies. Even Hannah’s impressive control slides just a bit. “I’m fine.”

Both of them refuse to break eye contact. Callum knows that one of them will have to back down, yet it’s still a surprise to watch Hannah sigh pitifully and cast her gaze down to set free the stifling discomfort. 

“Lie down for me, then. Could you please grab me a mug of boiling water, Callum?”

He nods and scurries off into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Hannah’s talking in a low voice to Ben, who suddenly doesn’t look as shit-scared as he did before. A beam of sunshine pokes through the window, illuminating the gathering dust on the counter. For a second, Callum just breathes. He takes the chance to eradicate his lungs of any tightness and expel the previous encompassing fear. The kettle stops rattling and fades to blue, so he pours the steaming contents into a clean mug and revels in the fact that his hands aren’t trembling anymore. 

Ben’s lying on top of a blanket he’s apparated from somewhere, spread-eagle across the lounge floor. Hannah’s kneeled at his elbow with her equipment piled on her lap and a pinched frown creasing her features. She accepts the mug of heat with a grateful smile and deposits a scalpel into it. One sharp intake of breath from Ben’s direction has her shaking her head. “It’s just in case there’s any stitching thread left in the wound, my love. Deep breaths.”

It’s quite a liberation to see Ben obey. Who would’ve guessed that the only person capable of getting through to Ben _I’m better that all o’yas_ Mitchell would be a tall, blonde Londoner fresh out of medical school? Callum should takes notes. His body kicks into gear at the frozen expression of sheer fear still etched onto Ben’s face. Before his brain can catch up, he falls into a crouch right next to him and pulls Ben’s hand into his lap to cover the bones with his own. He gets thrown a thankful smile that numbs his heart. It was almost like Ben was surprised every time Callum came back to him. Did he genuinely think Callum was just going to cut and run after all of this? He’s already had his heart ripped out of his breathing body before, Callum reminds himself, and that thought alone is enough to make him gently squeeze Ben’s vibrating fingers.

“Right, Mitchell.” Hannah says with a false atmosphere of normality, and rips open the sterilised packet containing a medical threading needle. Ben stiffens. “We will listen to Callum in future, because…?”

“He’s always right.” Ben responds through a gritted jaw. His eyes don’t move from the pointed instrument, and Callum suddenly remembers that Ben wasn’t conscious the last time this was done. Oh. 

“Indeed.” The nurse nods drily. She busies herself with getting the last bits ready, and wonders how the hell she’s going to explain this to her superior.

Callum nudges his living obligation, who just narrows his eyebrows in return. “Want my hoodie to grip onto? The one ya’ were wearing yesterday?”

He’s onto his feet and up the stairs before Ben can even widen his eyes or splutter a blind denial. “Uh-” 

Hannah leans closer to Ben, but her gaze stays firmly trained on the door Callum’s just disappeared through. Her eyebrows furrow together into arches of confusion. Without glancing back up at his shocked expression, and with the scepticism of Lexi at Christmas, she asks: “Are you sure he’s not your boyfriend?”

Ben doesn’t answer.

-

_Day 10_

The atmosphere in the house had lifted greatly from the suffocating tension clogging up the air particles five days earlier. 

Hannah’s artistic stitches, both bloody sets of the things, remained snugly intact. True to Ben’s word, he had been applying unscented skin gels to the ripped skin surrounding his pectoral muscle to help soothe the rawness. After the whole debacle that nearly saw the swift end of Callum’s sanity and beating heart, he’d found himself even more protective of Ben. Ben, wasn’t complaining. They’d had a very heartfelt chat after Hannah had wrapped them both up in a hug following her successful attempt at putting the shorter man back together with borrowed hospital equipment. Callum told Ben that he was by _no fucking means_ a burden to him, and Ben reassured Callum that he wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt himself and was going to take things slow from here on out.

All in all, their living situation had become functional and borderline healthy. Obviously, apart from Phil’s slightly disapproving glares, Whitney’s slightly devastated glares, Kathy’s very worried glares and the whole thing of, yanno’- Lexi, it was working. They cleaned side by side, they watched TV in each other’s soft embraces and they found a common pleasure in people watching (and in Ben’s case, judging) from the safety of the café. 

“I’ve got a favour to ask ya’.” Ben poses on his way through to the lounge from the kitchen. Callum hums in answer from where he’s making them both macaroni cheese. Cooking had become his main source of stress relief, which nobody saw coming. Ben’s constant impressions of Gordon Ramsey’s insults was hilarious to start with, but then Callum had grown tired of ducking flying missiles of baguettes and yells of _hey, panini-head_ whenever he stepped inside his own flat. “Lola’s got to stay the night in Liverpool for a job next week, so I was wondering if Lexi could stay here?”

Callum glances upwards, and is very confused to find Ben looking cautious, almost like he’s expecting him to say no. “Of course your own daughter can stay the night, ya’ melt.”

Ben shrugs, but he’s grinning for the first time in ages. “Well it’s your house, innit?”

“I think you deserve the right to have some guardianship over this flat.” Callum says, smirking into the simmering pot of pasta. “After all, your shit is everywhere. It’s like you’ve moved in.”

That throwaway comment elicits both apprehension and excitement exploding through Ben’s veins. The mere thought of living together permanently in their honeymoon bubble is incandescent. Their upcoming drink would signify his return to good health, but it was also definitely a date. Who knows, maybe it was going to be the beginning of their forever?

“Ben?” 

He tunes back into reality at the worry lacing Callum’s tone. The taller man peers down at him through hooded lids, taut with concern.

“Eh?” He mumbles; all sophistication. “You what?”

Callum’s expression instantly softens, and Ben can’t believe he’s been caught in his head again. His saviour has an annoying ability to break down every wall Ben has ever constructed just by existing. 

“I said,” he takes the pan off of the heat and reaches to grab his wooden spoon. “Why was the thought of you living here so horrible?”

“Horrible? Waddya’ mean?” Ben frowns.

Callum bites at his lower lip as he attempts to slide equal portions of their dinner into matching bowls. “As soon as I joked ‘bout it, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” 

“You live above a funeral parlour.” Ben snorts. “A’probably did.”

“Shut up.” Callum laughs, carefree, suddenly feeling light for the first time since it all went to shit. His muscles no longer felt like fragmented lead. “Answer the damn question.”

Ben schools his expression into something meaningful, and offers up a genuine beam. “It didn’t scare me. I was just picturing what it’d be like.” Bliss.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” He dips his head into a nod and locks their gazes firmly together. “Passionate arguments and make-up sex, going out for food and me making you jealous, followed by possessive sex- actually, just _all_ the shagging, and you and me and Lexi going out for weekend trips and teaching her all kinds of stuff, and an actual family with you instead of this bloodwork spiderweb we have now-”

Ben stops abruptly, because there are tears smoothing over Callum’s eyes. “Cal?”

“Sounds perfect.” Callum whispers. He didn’t dare want to break this perfection by running around the kitchen whooping wildly with a utensil in hand. Instead, he drinks in the sight of his beautiful pain in the backside, stubborn nature and all. “Sounds like something I want.”

Ben gasps a little but manages to contain his delight. “Yeah?”

It’s become their thing now, and really Callum should cringe, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah.” He promises, and that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I started university last week! 
> 
> Lexi will be back next chapter! Also, these chapter titles are getting harder to refine. Ah.


	4. Finality.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Callum wants, is his own family. More importantly, he wants Ben to be the centre of that very family, and all of his baggage that comes with him.

_Day 17_

Lexi treats Callum to an extremely cynical glare when he opens the door to Lola’s loud knocking. Her little face draws up into a suspicious frown as her eyebrows pinch together. He watches as she genuinely looks him up and down like she’s working out if his lanky frame could feed eight people, before something settles in her eyes and she nods to herself. The girl may still only be primary school age, but she had a special way of making all six feet of Callum feel like an ant. It was entirely Ben’s fault, honestly. She’d got her cynical distrust and judgmental stare from her Dad. Bless her. 

“Hi.” Callum smiles gently at Lexi. With Ben’s growing strength came increased confidence, so now he was disappearing for a few hours every evening to go and visit his daughter. It was a relief to see him take everything with measured strides after the hellfire they’d both been through. The man had mellowed in arrogance and had finally stopped grasping onto the belief that he knows best. “I like your bag.”

Lexi’s Jurassic Park rucksack swings between Lola’s fingers. It’s dark red with forest green trimming and vinyl images of different dinosaurs plastered over the front panel. One of the bigger carnivores seems to be looking straight at Callum, so he swallows heavily.

“Daddy bought it for ya’, didn’t he?” Lola nudges the tiny blonde bombshell, who’s still staring up at him questioningly. She nods slowly without breaking eye contact, and it’s only from this distance that Callum notices her eyes. They’re exact replicas of Ben’s; it’s like peering into a mirror and coming face to face with a distant recollection. 

“Yes,” Lexi murmurs. “A’like dinosaurs.”

“Understatement.” Lola rolls her eyes fondly and gently pushes her daughter through the space between Callum’s legs and the doorframe. “Obsessed, ain’t ya?”

Callum grins. “It’s so cool that you like dinosaurs and stuff.”

He’s pierced with another damning glare. “Mrs Parry said that I shouldn’t have a dinosaur bag, because dinosaurs are for boys.”

Lola sighs, sounding as pissed as Callum suddenly feels. “An’ I told ya’ not to listen to Mrs Parry because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

“You always say to respect my elders.” Lexi throws her little hands in the air petulantly and shakes her blonde pigtails at her Mum’s hypocrisy.

“Yeah, well,” Lola flails and pulls Lexi’s coat from her arms whilst grimacing at Callum in a silent plea for help. In all honesty, Callum feels completely out of his depth and just stands stoic, blinking rapidly between the two headstrong women. “You should respect adults… unless they’re rude like Mrs Parry or,” she paws at the air like she’s desperately trying to find the right words. “Or Grandad Phil and- uh, just don’t listen to them, alright?”

Lexi purses her lips but nods obediently all the same. She gets shepherded into the kitchen where Ben’s chopping up vegetables for dinner. One look in his direction causes her eyebrows to shoot up into her hairline and the biggest smile to blossom out over her features. It was almost like she’d forgotten that her Dad was living here, and the realisation was the best thing Callum’s ever seen.

“Hi princess!” Ben catches her running jump after slamming the knife down on the chopping board. He’s careful to keep her knees firmly at either side of his rib cage; his chest may be healing but one knock could rupture the whole precarious structure and they’d be back to the beginning.

“Whatcha’ making?”

“You mean, what’s Callum making- Daddy’s just chopping.” Ben tickles her above her hips and she squirms in a laugh. “Spicy chicken with roasted veggies and sour cream.”

Unlike most normal children, Lexi seems delighted by the thought of peppers and mushrooms. Callum loves her, he really does. Although, he can’t work out if that’s because she’s adorable or because she’s an extension of Ben, and Callum is quickly learning to realise that he probably loves everything Ben Mitchell touches. That’s probably a problem within itself, but he has bigger fish to fry. His first port of call is to halt Lexi’s slow limpet squeeze around her father, who is starting to wince behind the eyes from the strain on his muscles. 

“Hey, Lex.” Callum takes her bag from Lola and gestures to the bedrooms. “Why don’t we go and put your things in the spare room so your Daddy can finish making dinner?”

Luckily, she immediately takes the bait and jumps down. Ben nods at him discreetly with a grateful smile, and brings a hand up to his pectoral to gently massage the tension away. They’d mutually agreed that Ben would sleep in Callum’s bed for the night that Lexi was with them, so that she could have the spare room. Somewhere in the back of Callum’s mind, there was a twisted panic about the young girl sleeping in the bed that Paul used to call his. However, Ben didn’t seem concerned about it and he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.

“There we go.” Callum deposits the fabric dinosaurs onto the fresh sheets and watches with a bemused expression as Lexi sticks her hand into the bag to pull out something. A homemade card appears in a flourish of gold glitter and sticky felt flowers. “What’s that, then?”

Lexi ignores him for a moment in favour of brushing the fallen glitter from her leggings. Then, she turns on him with a genuine smile and offers up the art project. He takes it, confused, and turns it upside down to read the wobbly writing on the front. A huge ball of aching surprise lodges in his throat. It takes a moment for the jagged letters to join up in his vision, but he soon realises what the card is meant to say. Oh, fuck.

“_Thank you for having me, Callum._” Lexi sounds out for him and follows the wording with the pad of her tiny index finger. There’s a crayon picture of three stick people at the bottom right corner; one of them has bright yellow hair, one of the stick people towers above the rest and the last one has a huge grey rectangle across its chest. “It’s a thank you card for letting me stay tonight. Mummy’s gotta’ work.” She tells him seriously, complete with a severe nod. Callum can’t help but snort in a laugh at the purity of this whirlwind child.

“A’love it.” He says, and opens it to read the scrawl in pink pen across the inside which pretty much just repeats the front of the card. “Ya’ very welcome to stay here, Lexi. An’ this lovely card is a very kind thing to do.”

“I made it all by myself.”

“I bet ya’ did.” Callum holds his hand out to her nervously, and is pleasantly shocked when she takes it. 

“And,” Lexi stops right in the doorway so she’s still out of earshot of where her parents are discussing her upcoming school play. “Thank you for looking after Daddy too. It’s nice for someone t’care when you’re poorly.” 

Callum can only blink at her in quick succession to dispel the oncoming tears of joy threatening to erupt from his eyes. He’s been _accepted_. She trusts him, because Ben trusts him. Suddenly, Callum Highway gets a sneak peek at what he wants his golden future to look like, and quite honestly it’s completely this. This; here and now. Ben by his side and Lexi in their hearts and Lola at the edge of frame, grinning and making sarcastic comments but not getting too involved. The epitome of dysfunctional familial beauty. 

“I like looking after him.” He shrugs. “I like _him_. An’, I like you.”

Lexi tips her blonde head up to grin at him, all missing teeth and softened eyes. It was like looking at a different child to the one that gave him an unsubtle second-glance at the front door. He weirdly adores both.

“Cal?” Ben shatters the peace with his raised voice. “Where’s the chicken?”

Callum keeps his eye contact with Lexi and rolls his eyes backwards into his head, completely overzealous. She lets out a shocked little laugh that Callum grins at. “Where do ya’ think? In the fridge!”

“I’m looking in the blood- ah, _bloomin’_ fridge!”

“For the love of god.” Callum says exasperatedly and carefully leads Lexi into the kitchen. Their joined hands slip apart so that Lexi can run to her Mum’s lap, but they stay entwined long enough for Lola to blink at them in gentle surprise. Ben’s got his hands splayed at the fridge like it’s personally offended him. He jumps when Callum appears behind him to squeeze his hip. “Oh I wonder, what could this huge bowl filled with marinated chicken and covered in clingfilm possibly be on this bottom shelf here?”

Ben turns around to smack his ribs in easy teasing. “Shuddup. You didn’t tell me to look that far down.”

“It’s not a black hole, Ben. The fridge doesn’t keep going forever.” He gets a deadpan reply, but luckily Callum moves out of the way of the next incoming swat. 

Ben shakes his head at Lexi’s amused giggles from the table and grabs the chicken to shove it in the oven. His cooking capabilities didn’t come to much, but depositing meat onto a prepared roasting tray was something even Callum could trust him with. 

Lola on the other hand-

“Don’t trust him with that chicken, for tha’ love of god.” She dangerously jabs her finger in Ben’s direction accusingly. “He tried to make me a roast once and I got food poisoning.”

Ben _meeps_ in offence. “Hey, there was no proof that tha’was me.”

Lola just arches her eyebrows and turns to Callum to act as jury.

“Um,” he starts. “If you didn’t cook the meat right…”

“Oh, thanks.” Ben throws a tea-towel over his shoulder with a loud _thwap_. “Gang up on me why don’t you, yeah, gang up on the cripple.”

“Oh get over yourself.” Lola scrunches her nose up and then blows him a kiss. “It was pink.”

Callum’s eyes widen and he instantly brandishes an orange spatula at Ben. “Step away from the chicken, Ben.”

The reply is quick and snarky: “Bite me.”

There’s a light laugh from Lexi that Callum sort-of melts at. Her eyes sparkle with delight at the steady banter between her parents and the guy she knows means a lot to her Dad. He means as much as Uncle Jay does to Mummy, is what Lola told her when Ben had first moved into the flat, so clearly this tall, kind-eyed stranger was important. 

“Lexi,” Callum grabs her attention by turning the neon utensil on her. “What do you think? Should your Dad be allowed to continue cooking?”

The young girl pauses for a heartbeat. “No.” She then shakes her head very carefully. “He should stop and have cuddles with me in case he gets hurt again and he can’t.”

Silence falls. Ben looks at Lola with rather large and horrified eyes, but the mother of his child brings no solace. Her own wide eyes blink back blankly, clearly with no idea as to why her daughter would say something so grave. 

“Well.” Ben forces his voice into action, gallantly ignoring how rough and splitting it sounds. “Whatever the princess wants, the princess shall have.”

“You two go on through to the TV and I’ll get everything under way.” Callum places his hand flat between Ben’s shoulder blades and nods at the bowl of spicy-smelling chicken. Ben smiles at him gratefully, yet slightly shaky and knocked. Lexi runs up to him when he holds his arms out and jumps into them, but for once Ben doesn’t brace himself for the pain of his stitches being kicked. It aches but he lets it, because it reminds him that he could’ve lost this. Fuck, the mirage isn’t even worth dwelling on. 

“I better go.” Lola says regretfully and leans forward to wrap her arms around her daughter’s back so that Lexi is firmly squished between them. She sighs happily into the wild blonde before pressing a kiss against the girl’s temple. “Be good for Daddy and Callum and I’ll see ya’ tomorrow bedtime, ‘kay?”

Lexi beams into Ben’s chest. “A-okay. Love you Mummy.”

The sentiment is returned and then Lola disappears in a haze of cigarette smoke and Gucci perfume. Callum and Ben are left in the stillness of the kitchen with neither of them really knowing what to say. It’s not the same tension as the day of Utter Fucking Mayhem when Ben ripped his stitches, but a cloud of discomfort settles on the counter tops. 

Callum’s quick in his attempt to disperse it. “Go on, you two. Go and see if there are any dinosaur shows available on Netflix.”

Ben, appreciating the distraction, laughs. “She’s probably watched them all, haven’t ya’ kid?” 

“I don’t doubt that.” Callum replies with a wink when Lexi nods vigorously. He watches as Ben waddles into the next room with his girl still firmly wrapped around his hips. The domesticity of it shouldn’t feel as pure as it does. It _aches_ Callum. His heart clenches at the need for such a belonging. Ben Mitchell; that absolute fucking whirlwind has thrown all the pieces of his life in the air and now he can’t wait to see where they all land. 

The dinner is easy to shove in the oven, so he finds himself entering the lounge with a blanket off the back of a kitchen chair folded in his arms about ten minutes later. Ben’s reclined across the sofa with Lexi curled up on his stomach like a cat. Her pretty eyes droop against her fair skin, clearly trying to fend off sleep. Ben tilts his head up when he senses Callum’s presence and sends him a soft, content smile. It gets returned tenfold, because Callum’s insides are exploding in golden fireworks. 

How the fuck has he managed this? When he offered to house Ben during his recovery post-shooting, it didn’t even cross his mind that it would be anything but polite and full of boundaries. They hadn’t even been for that bloody drink and Callum was already planning his future with the irritating, handsome and obnoxious little shit digging his toes into the sofa cushions in front of him. 

“What you smiling at?”

The question catches him off guard.

“You.” The answer slides easily from his tongue. 

Ben does a cute little double-take, and then his smile grows into an encompassing grin. Lexi snuffles into his hoodie like a mini radiator and his hands immediately go to her back to soothe her again. Callum’s fucked. He’s gonna marry the man. He will. 

“Yeah?”

“Always.” Callum says, as honestly as he can verbalise. It’s always been Ben. 

“I like you a lot.” 

Each snippet of exhalation tastes like stars.

Callum blushes and chuckles. “Thank god for that. I’would be awkward if the guy I’m falling for didn’t wanna pursue anything.”

His man is looking at him like he’s hung the moon in the sky. 

“You’re lucky then.” Comes the reply, as sweet as honey. “Because I’m pretty head over fuckin’ heels for you, Callum Highway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the horribly long delay that came with this chapter. I started university a month ago and quite frankly it's already been kicking my ass. I've struggled to find time to write in between lectures and partying, and I've felt so guilty about it! But hey, it's finally finished.
> 
> I didn't expect this little saga to be met with the overwhelmingly positive reaction that it has. To everyone who has commented or will comment, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. This wouldn't have been nearly as fun to write without y'all.
> 
> Cheers for the beautiful support, and let me hear your thoughts for old times sake :) xx

**Author's Note:**

> I said to myself, rather firmly, that my last Ballum fic was just going to be a one-time rodeo. That's clearly worked very well.
> 
> Half-tempted to continue this with an exploration of Ben's recovery journey with Callum as his disgruntled half-boyfriend, half-helper?
> 
> Hmm. Let me know x


End file.
